A Stone Fallen From His Heart
by Melika Elena
Summary: Madge is a fallen princess on the run from the queen who stole her crown. Gale is an exiled huntsman with a debt to pay. When they meet, nothing in the kingdom will be the same again. Snow White and the Huntsman in seven parts.
1. Chapter 1

_The huntsman obeyed and took Snow-White into the woods. He took out his hunting knife and was about to stab it into her innocent heart when she began to cry, saying, "Oh, dear huntsman, let me live. I will run into the wild woods and never come back."_

_Because she was so beautiful the huntsman took pity on her, and he said, "Run away, you poor child."_

_He thought, "The wild animals will soon devour you anyway," but still **it was as if a stone had fallen from his heart**, for he would not have to kill her._

**- "Snow White" The Brothers Grimm**

**i. **

He's at the castle because he owes a debt.

The castle, for lack of a better word, is a monstrosity, although Gale can see glimpses of the beauty it used to hold. He'd never been to the castle when the previous king and queen ruled it, but he heard it was spectacular- gleaming white limestone that shimmered flecks of gold and pale green in the light. It used to be a more modest structure, as well, completely without the gothic, gaudy additions the current monarch added on in the past decade. The light in it is gone, replaced by foreboding gargoyles, the stone painted over to a charcoal grey, flickering, dim torchlights, dark, heavy drapes.

He wonders what any of the past monarchs would say about it—well, if any of them were alive, anyway. They're all dead, thanks to the current monarch, who overthrew them in a vicious, bloody coup some ten years before.

"Queen Alma," Gale bows, reluctantly getting on his knees. His kingdom is the forest, and he bows to no man or animal.

"Huntsman," she addresses him coolly, dehumanizing him to a mere title. "Thank you for answering my summons."

As if he had a choice.

"It is my pleasure," he says as he stands, and he leaves off _and my duty._

"Would you care for some wine?" She is sipping a deep red class of merlot herself, and Gale has to restrain from making a face. He's never cared for drinking—unlike many, he likes to keep his wits about him.

"No, thank you, Your Majesty," he says. "I would prefer to give you my fullest attentions."

Alma raises an eyebrow, almost amused. "Why, Huntsman," she says, "for someone who is rarely around humans, you certainly are charming, aren't you?"

Gale chooses not to answer.

"Well," Alma says after a moment. "I'm sure you're wondering why you're here."

"I've had my theories, but would not dare to assume," he says diplomatically.

Alma's stare turns appreciative. "Smart boy," she says. "I'm here to collect on your debt, Huntsman."

Gale bows his head and waits.

"There is a person who I've learned is hiding in the woods, a person who is a threat to me and this kingdom. I need you to find this person and eliminate them."

Gale raises an eyebrow. He expected a lot of things, but none of them like this. "Your Majesty?" He asks. "Not that I am not… flattered, by this honor, but I wonder, why me? Why not have someone in your personal guard accomplish this task?"

"Why, Huntsman," Alma smiles, but to Gale she looks more like a dog baring its teeth, "I thought the answer was obvious. Who better to track and kill someone than a hunter?"


	2. Chapter 2

**ii. **

Finding her is all too easy, and the moment he sees her, Gale almost wishes he hadn't.

Queen Alma described her scornfully, saying she was a temptress wrapped in a virgin's body, with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, eyes as blue as the sky, hair as glittering as gold. At the time, Gale had listened with a detached, hunter's mind, but seeing her in the flesh is different.

The reports on her beauty are greatly exaggerated, to be sure. Her skin is not as white as snow, but rather more of a peaches and cream; her lips resemble pink tulip buds rather than inky blood; her eyes are a deeper blue than the sky, an intense color like the sea; and her hair doesn't glitter like gold, but it does have a rather lovely, whimsical curl to it that makes her seem more human, rather than the ethereal, mythical being Alma painted her out to be.

This is the girl who threatens the kingdom? Gale thinks incredulously as he spies on her from afar, roasting a fish, carefully wrapped in leaves, over a small fire.

"She's known as Snow White," Alma said, spitting the name out like something distasteful. "She wants my crown and has gained… a rather popular following where she's from. My guards have taken care of her supporters, but lost her in the ensuing battle. She escaped into the woods that separates my kingdom from its neighbor, and I have reason to believe she is working her way into this kingdom, trying to gain followers here. Your job," she stood and retrieved a small wooden box, intricately carved, and held it open to Gale, placing it gently in his hands, "is to track her. Hunt her as you would your animal prey… and when you find and capture her," here her eyes glittered menacingly, "I want you to kill her. The methods I don't care about—stabbing, shooting, whatever it takes. All I ask for is for you to bring her heart back, in this box."

Gale used all of his self-restraint not to visibly react but inside all he could feel was revulsion. What sort of monster was this woman? "Her heart, Your Majesty?" He asked.

"In Ancient times," the queen said, ignoring his inquiry, "warriors would tear out and consume the hearts of their enemies, believing that they would absorb their enemy's strengths and power. Even now, there is some truth to that old wives' tale. Surely, you know that there is lingering forces of Magic in these woods."

Gale knew it well. The Forest he lived in was unlike any other he had ever walked through, and Gale had never known anything else but forests. It was alive in a way that was eerie, with creatures so finely attuned to it as though they were spirits from Mother Nature herself. Gale treated the Forest with a reverence and respect that he rarely bestowed upon people and in return the Forest kept him safe and let him live peacefully there.

"I have some Magic in me, you know," Alma said softly. "And rumor has it that Snow White does as well. The best way to transfer Magic is through the strongest organ in one's body—the heart. So you see, Huntsman, why having her heart is so essential to me. Are we clear?"

Gale looked at her, trying desperately to hide his horror, and said, resolutely, "As crystal."

He keeps that conversation in mind as he strings his bow and places himself into position. Tracking her was easy, though he is impressed at how well she attempted to cover her tracks; any other hunter probably would have had a near impossible time at it, but no one knows the Forest like he does. He retched twice as he tracked her, feeling sick at the thought of killing another human being, let alone a young girl.

And now that he's looking at her, she doesn't look like a threat at all. She looks, if anything, lonely. And that's something Gale knows about, has known since his family- mother, father, brothers, sister, aunt, uncle, cousins- were taken from him one awful night in a horrible fire. He ran from the village into the Forest after seeing his home, his family, go up in flames, and hasn't looked back since.

He wonders if the queen would mind a wounded heart. His cousin, Katniss, used to shoot prey straight in the eye, but Gale is nowhere near as accurate as she was, and he doesn't want to wound her and slit her throat—he just wants her to die as mercifully as possible, if that's such a thing.

He's decided on bringing the Queen a pierced heart, when the girl—Snow White- looks up from her task and clear blue eyes lock on his

and he's undone.


	3. Chapter 3

**iii.**

She sees him and oddly, she is not afraid.

So the queen—or rather, the queen's man- has found her at last. She was wondering when she would, the forgotten daughter of King Henry and Queen Mariella, presumed dead when really she was kept locked up in the castle, being slowly stripped of her Magic—the same family Magic that binds her to the ancestral lands her family ruled for centuries—and her sanity. When she escaped she thought that her trials were over; the queen had taken away more than enough Magic to be satisfied, but she should have known that the queen would follow her.

Even when she changed her name from Margaret—Madge- to an old nickname from her parents, Snow White, the queen still found her. She should have known.

It didn't help that some kind villagers who took her in recognized her and excitedly planned for a Rebellion that Madge didn't even know if she wanted to be a part of—but it didn't matter. The queen found them and killed them and almost killed Madge, too, but she took off into the Forest. Madge still had enough Magic in her for the Forest to recognize her, and to shelter her—

Until now.

The man who is sent to kill her is breathtaking. Madge hates to think that way, but when she looks up at him, everything stops. For a moment she thinks he is the living embodiment of the Forest, draped in hand-skinned furs and weathered, thick clothes in grey and moss green hues. He has dark hair, like stripped bark in winter, skin a swarthy tan, supple like a buckskin's coat, eyes stormy like the sky during summer storms. He is lean and strong and powerful, and Madge feels a skin-crawling awareness towards this would-be murderer. Even more strangely, there's a stillness in the air of the Forest, taut like a pulled string. Her Magic, weak, stripped away, and fragile, begins to thrum and crackle. It's as if the Forest—and this man—are energizing her. Madge feels strength in a way that she hasn't in years.

Daringly, she spreads her arms out wide.

"Go ahead," she calls to him, her voice clear and strong, though solemn. "Finish her job."

The man flinches, but his bow and arrow stay poised. "You don't want to run?" He calls to her, and it is the mocking tone that makes something primal within Madge snarl and bristle.

"Like a coward? I think not," Madge retorts, blue eyes flashing like lightening. "I'm not like _her_; I don't send others to do my bidding."

"That's not what I hear," he snaps back. "I hear you have lowly villagers do your rebelling for you."

"You mean the villagers the 'good queen' starves?" Madge barks a laugh at him, low and bitter. "The ones she taxes into early graves? The ones who she mercilessly killed because they gave me food and shelter? The ones whose homes and crops she burned to a crisp?"

The bow is lowered. His eyes burn into hers, and all pretenses fall away. "She burnt the villages?"

Madge nods and she looks tired. "Yes," she says. "It's not a new practice for her. She's been doing it for ages, from what I've heard from the villagers. If she even catches a _whisper _of rebellion…" she shrugs.

She looks at the Huntsman, and he's shaking. She steps closer to him, tentatively. "Are you all right?" She asks him.

He shakes his head, furiously, and he drops his weapons, abruptly, and sits on a nearby log. "She killed them," he whispers furiously. "She killed them all!"

Madge takes a step towards him, then another. He's staring off into the darkness and she approaches him like a wounded animal. "Who?" She asks. "Your family?"

"Yes," he says. "I knew it wasn't just an accidental fire—not when the whole village went up so quickly. I—I've been wracking my brain for years trying to figure out how it happened—" He stands up abruptly, and Madge is almost thrown backward through the force of it, though he doesn't touch her. He starts to pace. "I—why would she do that, then? When she found me, those years ago, she let me live… live in exchange for a favor. Why would she let me live in the Forest, knowing she killed my family? I told her what had happened, how they had died—" He had just escaped from the fire, and was just a boy, and had stumbled through the forest to the castle, where the queen's guards immediately surrounded him. They brought him to her and he had explained his plight. She had given him food and shelter for the night, had let him live at the edge of the Forest in an old, abandoned cottage, in exchange for one favor, to be called upon at any time. So he lived in her debt for several years, until she called him to the Castle a few days before-

"Queen Alma?" Madge asks quietly and the Huntsman snaps his head towards her and looks at her with fresh eyes. She is thin—too thin—and there are bruises at her neck. Her eyes look haunted, like a fire burnt out. "She saw a hunter in you. She probably intended you for this task, all along."

_To kill her._

The man peers at her. "Who _are _you?" He asks.

0 0 0

"Why does the queen want you dead so badly?" Gale asks her. How does this slip of a girl affect the haughty and all-powerful queen?

"It's because I'm the only thing standing between the queen and true legitimacy," Madge explains, bluntly. "I'm the daughter of the late king and queen."

Gale stares at her. "The princess?" He says.

Madge gives a nervous laugh, looks down. "Only very technically," she says.

"I don't understand," Gale says, "How…?"

"It's not very common knowledge what happened," Madge muses. "I'm not surprised you don't know it. Your village must have been quite far from the castle, isn't it?" Gale nods.

"The current queen was originally the wife of one of my father's top advisors," Madge says, her eyes getting a distant look. "She was as politically active as he and both advocated for revitalizing the kingdom. I must admit, my grandfather had not been a very active king, nor a very good one, and my father knew it. My father wanted to revitalize the kingdom and restore the reputation of the monarchy. He wanted to lessen taxes on the villagers, invest in better equipment for the farmers, clear and better the pathways and bridges leading to the towns. He was ambitious, and knew things would take time. Alma and her husband were instrumental in propelling things forward, but little did we know that in reality, Alma and her husband were betraying us, telling people that we were just like, if not worse than, my grandfather, and how they were better choices to rule. Alma was the daughter of a duke, so they had some legitimacy to the throne, and appealed to both other noblemen and the comman man. Somehow, they staged a coup. Some of my father's guards participated, but many were against it—at least the ones who knew how my father really was. Either way, Alma had nowhere near enough the army she needed for a military take over.

"The thing that no one knew was that she had somehow acquired—and studied—Magic. It was better than an army. That was how she killed them," Madge says. "Her specialty is fire. She killed them in a magnificent blaze, one that almost took down the whole castle in her rage, her eyes mad with power. Even her husband was horrified and begged her to stop, but she was too far gone—she killed him, too. She didn't need a king by her side, she had told him." Madge shudders, pausing for a moment.

Gale shakes his head, aghast, confused. "Why didn't she kill you, too?"

Madge sighs. "She kept me alive because, as the Heir, I had family Magic that she could take and would make her more acceptable to the land. You see, the Queen is powerful enough with her own Magic—it's impressive that she taught herself Magic, although the fact that she's capable at all means there was, at some point, Magic within her own family line. Our family Magic is intricately tied with the land—as my family line has been the only line that has ruled these lands, our Magic especially, more than some other royal families of other kingdoms, has a strong bond. That bond keeps us safe, especially if people from other countries want to invade us. Alma is skilled enough with her own Magic to prevent a coup from her own people—for now—but without my family Magic she's essentially powerless to outside forces. The land doesn't trust her, doesn't know her, and thus has no loyalty to her. It won't protect her or our people. She needs our Magic—my Magic. As a crowned monarch, my father couldn't have his Magic taken away from him—it was secure with his title. But mine was a little more unpredictable—I'm younger, and unmarried, and my Magic is more pliable because of it," Madge explains at Gale's stunned glance. "She kept me locked up in a room and has slowly been draining me of my Magic. It's a tedious process and she can't do it too quickly, otherwise the transplant of my Magic into her will reject her. It needs to be acclimated within her body, and then once it is, she can transfer more."

"How much has she taken from you?" Gale asks, horrified, correctly guessing what a painful process it was.

"Too much," Madge whispers, looking unbearably sad. "But it's odd," she says, looking into the Forest. "Here, I feel—it's like I'm regenerating Magic, which is also, from what I've been told, a long and tedious process. Not to mention nearly impossible. But this almost feels instantaneous," she turns to him in wonder, "especially since I've been with you."

Gale feels the hairs prickle on the back of his neck and his arms. He's bewildered and alarmed to realize that somehow, he can feel it, too.

Madge smiles at him, sadly. "But you're here to kill me," she says lightly, and his heart twists as though she's stuck a knife in it.

"I'm supposed to," he says, and feels ill again.

"You have to," she tells him, and it's almost a rebuke. "If you don't, she'll kill you."

Gale jumps to his feet, the light from the fire causing shadows to flicker over his face, menacingly. "What does it matter?" He demands. "She's already killed my family. If she kills me, so what?" He looks at her wonderingly. "But you—you're important. You're someone who can make a difference. You should live, take back the throne, finish what your father started."

Madge shakes her head, looking tearful. "I can't," she says. "Yes, my Magic might be restoring itself, but I'm no match for Alma and besides, who would stand beside me? I can't—I can't ask anyone else to risk their lives for me, just like those poor villagers," she chokes out, and covers her face with her hands.

Gale crouches beside her and gently pries her hands away. He looks into her eyes earnestly. "People should follow you," he tells her. "I'm sure most of them know your father wasn't what Alma made him out to be. They deserve a better ruler and you deserve a better life. In the grand scheme, I'm insignificant, but you? You can make a difference, Your Highness."

Madge starts at her title, but she looks at him and smiles, shyly. "Call me Madge," she tells him.

Gale blinks. "What?" He asks. He's a bit disoriented by her smile, to be honest.

"Madge," she says. "Short for Margaret. But—my parents called me Madge."

"What about Snow White?" Gale asks softly.

"That, too," Madge says, "but it's something villagers would—and still do—call me. It's like… a persona, in a way. Something mythical. Some ethereal version of myself."

Gale shakes his head; she_ is_ ethereal. "Madge it is, then." He tells her. "Regardless, Madge, I believe you can do something."

Madge looks at him. "I believe you can, too," she tells him. "You're not as insignificant as you believe to be." She looks around her. "You have a strange bond with the Forest. It respects you, which is—it's rare. You have a kinship that is startling for someone who is not royalty. You are much more important than you think." She looks at him. "Not that I am advocating for you to kill me, but how can you not?"

Gale looks at her. "I have a plan," he tells her. "I'll bring her an animal heart instead, and I will leave before she can discern of its authenticity. I'll come back to the Forest, and hopefully it'll protect me from her—even she doesn't know it like I do." Here he gulps and his cheeks flush lightly, but he wraps her hands gently in his and looks in her eyes. "I will come back for you and find you."

Madge knows he's coming back to help her with the Rebellion—she knows that in her head—but her heart is telling her something different, which is ridiculous. She's only just met this man, beautiful and wild as he may be. "What if she finds you before you reach the Forest?" She whispers.

"I won't let that happen," he tells her firmly, even if he doesn't believe it. It's so odd, to have someone actually worry over him—he hasn't had that for a long time, and it makes his heart ache with longing. He misses his family right now, more than ever.

They discuss it some more as they crouch over her fire and she offers him some fish she caught from a nearby stream. He leaves the site for a bit to come back with some edible greens and they have a nice meal, enjoying each other's company.

They are a strange pair, to be sure, unused to other human contact but both deeply craving it. Gale can envision her as queen, and he feels, instinctively, that she would be a good one, kind and quiet and brave, strong and loyal. He admires her, and has a fierce wish to know her better, and although he knows she will be a wonderful queen, he can't help but wish that things were different, that perhaps if she wasn't queen then perhaps they could—

No. It doesn't matter. 'What if's' help no one, he tells himself. He's getting ahead of himself, but nothing has felt more right before, and it devastates him because anything between the two of them couldn't be more wrong.

He has to let her go, in more ways than one.

It's what he tells himself the next morning as they destroy the campsite and he prepares to go back. She looks worried for him, worried and beautiful, and he knows that he'll die to keep her safe, and is disconcerted when he admits to himself that the feeling is not due to any patriotic sentiment or feudalistic loyalty.

To be fair, he knows that her concern for him is not due to any sort of noble sentiment or obligation, either.

She's holding back something, he can tell. "Be careful," she tells him, eyes pleading, and he knows. They're connected now, two untethered, unbound souls, holding on to the first thing they could grasp with all their might. It's a heady feeling, and he's too selfish to try and break that bond, as much as he should.

"I will," he promises, and he's holding back, too.

She has less self-restraint and she throws her arms around him, and he can't help it, he enfolds her into his, and rests his head on her gold curls, and presses a kiss there. Her arms tighten and he knows she felt it.

"Come back to me," she whispers.

He closes his eyes and wishes he could promise what he feels: _Always. _


	4. Chapter 4

**iv.**

She waits five days for him. He told her to only wait three, but she can't help it. She stays closer to their campsite, even when it rains. She climbs into a tree and huddles there, wondering why he wasn't back yet. Though she's deep in the forest, it should have taken him no more than two days to go to the castle and come back to her.

Madge remembers he never promised her that he would, before promptly pushing that thought away. She knows he would come back for her.

She holds out a couple extra days because she knows he wouldn't abandon her there, that he would do whatever he could to come back to her—for him not to return means the worst. Madge lets herself cry that night in a way she hadn't before; she cried for her parents, the villagers, her kingdom, and for Gale.

It's strange, she thinks, as she goes deeper into the woods, how even more lost she is now without him. She's been used to being on her own, mentally, emotionally, and physically, since her parents died, but in the 24 hours when she was with Gale, hopes and dreams she never thought she'd have again built themselves up. But now she's alone again… and it's scary to think how dependent she became upon him, so quickly.

_I have to be strong_, she tells herself as rain starts to fall again. _This is clearly how it's going to be. _

It's hard to keep telling herself that when the rain seems to get stronger. Even worse, there's thunder and she sees a strike of lightning in the distance. It scares her off from climbing any trees, so she quickly becomes soaked to the bone.

The lightning strikes again, and Madge stops, perplexed. Lightning isn't supposed to strike in the same place twice… and yet, from what she can see, it did just that.

As much as she knows that she should stay away, something propels her forward towards where the lightning struck, and after almost mechanically following it, Madge decides not to resist. She can feel her Magic guiding her there, and yes, it makes her heart ache a little bit, remembering her Magic's reaction to Gale, but maybe, if her Magic is really coming back, she can figure out a way to find him.

By the time Madge stumbles out of the forest into what appears to be a small clearing, she's exhausted. She can't remember the last time she ate, she hasn't slept properly since Gale left, and she's completely soaked. Using her Magic, even just a little bit, has drained her, and she wonders when she sees the charming thatched cottage if it's a dream.

Sobbing, she drags herself to the door and knocks, fainting just as the door opens and she can see golden light flooding in from the figure behind it.

000

Alma's eyes sparkle with glee as she takes in the heart presented to her. "It's a gorgeous red color," she breathes, bloodlust in her eyes as she takes the heart Gale presents to her with reverence.

Gale holds himself very still, trying not to make eye contact. He isn't sure what, exactly, Magic entails, but he really hopes it's not reading minds. He tries to keep his mind blank; he tries not to recall Madge's face.

"Tell me, Huntsman," Alma says, taking the heart and placing it in a small, wooden box. "How did you kill her?"

Sticking to as close to the truth as possible is best, Gale thinks. "I shot her with an arrow," he says, trying not to recall the doe who he shot instead.

Alma steps closer to Gale, her eyes taking on a predatory gleam. "Was it difficult for you?" She purrs, stepping delicately behind Gale. She runs her fingers lightly across the backs of his shoulders. "Did you think her beautiful?"

For a brief moment, Gale indulges in the question, thinks of curling gold hair, glinting in the morning sun; bright blue eyes that twinkle when she laughs; and pink cheeks flushed from the campfire. "She was as you said," he replies dully, keeping his voice flat.

"You're enchanted with her," Alma accuses calmly, pivoting in front of him suddenly. Her eyes—cat-like—bore into his with a fierce intensity. "Aren't you? She's more beautiful than I am, isn't she? More powerful?"

Gale quirks an eyebrow at her coolly. "I'll admit she was beautiful," he says, "but she's certainly not more powerful than you now, is she?"

Alma gives him a pleased smile. "You would make a fantastic noble," she praises, "you certainly understand how to play the game, don't you?"

"I'm not a man for games, Your Majesty," Gale says politely. "I'm just a simple huntsman."

Alma gives him an appraising glance. "Simple, perhaps," she says, "but certainly something to look at."

Gale stiffens. He's encountered some women before—women who have looked at him like how the queen is now. They've always made him uncomfortable though, looking at him like the queen is now—like the prey he hunts. It's part of the reason why he prefers the forest, why he stays away from people. They tend to play games he has no interest in playing.

Perhaps that's why he reacted so strongly to Madge—she had no pretenses, no hopes, seemingly no fears. She was raw—she had grown up in a dungeon with only her own wits about her and no training in political intrigue. She's only herself, and to him that's the most appealing thing of all.

"Have I embarrassed you, Huntsman?" She says, amused. "I forget how young you were when you were separated by your family, how little you've been around people since."

Gale's fists curl. His family. How had he forgotten? The very family she had killed, mercilessly, years before. He knows he should keep silent, but he can't. Since his family was killed there's been a fire in his veins, a fire that started with them but grows within him, and he can't forget them. He can't keep quiet, he can't keep letting himself get played like this.

A small part of him thinks of Madge, thinks of her waiting for him, but he can't stop, he's burning, he feels his cheeks flush and he snaps, "Perhaps it wouldn't have been that way if you hadn't have burned them to death years ago."

Alma tenses, her shoulders arching like a cat's. "What was that, Huntsman?" She says calmly. Too calmly. "What, exactly, are you accusing me of?"

"You say you act for the good of the people," Gale says, chin out proudly, back straight and proud. "But you're a tyrant. A monster. You want nothing but blind adoration and complete submission by your people. You don't want to do right by anyone but yourself."

"You better be careful with what you say, Huntsman," the queen hisses, eyes flashing like bolts of lightning. "You are speaking treasonous words."

Gale stands like stone, deciding on what to do. Every fiber of his being cries out for vengeance, but he knows realistically he can't. He thinks of Madge again. As easy as defiance would be, as fearless and uncaring of death he is, he thinks of her. There's someone dependent upon him, now. Someone who's waiting for him.

"I apologize, my lady," he grits out. "That was out of line. I don't know what's come over me."

"I don't know what's gotten into you, Huntsman,' she says, her eyes probing his intently. "I am most displeased by it. But, as you have rid me of that pesky Snow White, I shall forgive you – this once. And if it ever happens again, I will not hesitate to kill you."

Gale mutters, "Yes, my lady."

"I think it only fitting," the queen continues, "that you witness the fruits of your labor, hmm?" The queen takes the heart out of the box and holds it in one hand, gazing at it admiringly. A red light begins to emanate from her palm, causing the heart itself to glow and begin to pulsate. Alma's gaze grows hungry and desperate. "Mine," she murmurs. "All that Magic, mine."

Gale begins to edge away slowly, breaking out into a cold sweat. He knows where that heart really came from, and he'd prefer not to be around when Alma finds out, as well.

Before he can escape, she bites into it viciously. The Magic immediately dies.

Blood dripping from her chin, she turns to him, eyes flashing. "What is this?" She hisses. "What did you bring me?"

Gale blinks innocently. "I don't understand," he says. "Is it not working?"

Alma throws the heart on the ground. "It should work instantly!" Alma howls. "I should be feeling Snow White's Magic flowing through me!" She advances towards him menacingly, back arched, teeth bared, like a feral cat. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Gale says, before realizing that was the worst thing to say.

Alma freezes. "Nothing?" She breathes. "You didn't kill her! You fell under her spell, too!" She snarls at him. "Where is she?"

Gale tenses. "You'll never find her," he says. "The Forest will hide her from you. It is loyal to her and her alone."

"Oh, I don't need the Forest, boy," Alma says. "I have you. Guards!" They advance on him and bind his arms. Gale goes willingly.

Alma goes to the wall and takes down a whip. "We'll soon uncover where Snow White is," she promises. "It won't be long at all."


	5. Chapter 5

**v. **

Wherever she is right now, it's warm, Madge thinks. Too warm. She would open her eyes and check to see where she is, but her whole body aches, from climbing and staying in the tree too long, from combing miles through the Forest. She's afraid to admit that it might be because she's ill, too. She hates being sick. The few times she was as Alma's prisoner, the relentless queen drained her body of Magic, anyway, several times nearly killing Madge. She seemed to take sadistic delight in pushing the girl to the brink and then finally giving her treatment in order to keep her alive for another session.

To truly want her dead, now, must mean that Alma believes she's tapped all of Madge's Magic. Or that she has discovered another nefarious means of retrieving the last bits of Madge's birthright.

Gale did say that Alma wanted him to bring back Madge's heart. Madge shivers. The answer must lie there. Madge would rather have her whole being eaten alive by bears than let Alma have her heart.

Finally, she cracks open her eyes. She's on a bed—not the luxurious mattress of her days as a princess, nor the straw that Alma gave her—something homemade. It feels heavenly.

There's a fire in the hearth, and she smells stew emanating from the large vat that sits in the fire.

She feels something soft touch her arm and she starts, then winces at the tension in her muscles.

"She's awake," a whispers says. "Mama, she's awake."

Despite the pain, Madge turns her head towards the voice. A little girl, no more than six or seven, stares back at her. Madge's eyes widen. The girl looks familiar. Dark hair, tanned skin, and piercing grey eyes with just a touch of emerald green…

A woman comes over, a taller and older replica of the girl. _Her mother_, Madge thinks. And then immediately is alarmed. She had no idea anyone lived in the Forest—was capable of it. For all of its beauty and mystery, no one dared to be in the Forest very long, let alone be permitted to live in it. How did this little family manage it?

"So she is, Posy," comes a soft voice. Madge attempts a smile and the woman smiles back. "Hello, there," the woman says, with a touch of curiosity. "My name is Hazelle Hawthorne. And you are?"

Madge opens her mouth to speak but find she can't, instead giving out a croak. Posy is immediately at her elbow with some water, and Madge gulps it down gratefully.

"Madge," she says. "My name is Madge."

"It's nice to meet you, Madge," Hazelle says. "I'm glad you found us, you poor thing. You were terribly ill."

Madge tries to sit up, slowly, carefully. "How long have I been asleep?" She asks.

"Three days," Posy says.

Madge freezes in alarm. _Gale_, she thinks. Even if he did come back, he would never find her now…

Hazelle watches her carefully. "Are you all right?" She asks.

"I…" Madge hesitates. "I was supposed to meet someone here," she says. "In the Forest. And he… he never came and then I didn't know what to do."

Hazelle bites her lip thoughtfully. "My husband and brother can keep an eye out for him," she says. "They know these parts quite well."

"How…" Madge says, wincing again. "How did you come to live here? I've heard that the Forest is hostile, has a mind of its own, and won't let anyone stay within its borders for too long."

Hazelle smiles, but there's caution there. "Now that's a story for my brother to tell," she says, "he's always had a way with words more than I have. And perhaps it's time for my sister-in-law to come check up on you. She's been your nurse these past few days."

Hazelle leaves, and Posy stays, fingering the ends of Madge's hair. "It's so pretty," says the girl. "It's even prettier than Prim's hair!"

"Who's…?" Madge trails off, but before she can, she hears a multitude of foot steps coming down from what seems to be a staircase. Lead by a delicate, pretty blonde woman, behind her comes one girl, her miniature, and two boys who look more like Posy.

"Our patient is awake," says the woman. "Hello," she says, "I'm Alyssa Everdeen. This is my daughter, Primrose, and my nephews, Rory and Vick, Hazelle's sons. I'm glad to see you're awake."

Madge introduces herself as well, taking in the three children. Primrose is an exact replica of her mother, but what surprises her is Rory and Vick.

_Gale._ They look like him so much. She wonders if perhaps they were from the same village, or distant cousins. He didn't mention his family much when they talked that one night, just spoke of the pain of losing them. They didn't have to say much about their lost families; they just knew.

Prim looks as sweet and bright as her countenance and Vick, not too much older than Posy, looks at her with unrestrained interest, but it's Rory who catches her eye the most. He eyes her with outright suspicion and mistrust, and Madge wonders, bewildered, why.

The women fuss over her, and the boys and Posy stay out of their way, until the door opens and two large men come in: Hazelle and Alyssa's husbands.

"It seems our guest has awoken," one of them, who introduces himself as Asher, says. "Hello, ma'am," he says politely.

"I hope she's in the mood for deer stew," jokes the other, who introduces himself as Branson.

"I'm in the mood for anything," Madge says seriously, her stomach growling so loudly it's almost a roar.

To her relief, no one asks her questions until they've finished eating, and even then it's done with a caution, a carefulness to make sure they don't scare her away.

"I ran away," Madge says. "My home life was… awful." And she knows, once she's fully healed in a couple days, she's going to leave here, too. Gale isn't here anymore. Madge can't trust that Alma isn't still looking for her. She needs to leave before these people are in danger. She hasn't made up her mind if she's going to keep hiding or… or fight back.

"You're lying," says a voice, flat with certainty. Every head whips towards the source: Rory. He's looking at Madge, and his grey-green eyes are burning, reflecting the fire.

"Rory," his father reprimands sharply. "I don't know what possessed you to—"

Rory stands up and points at Madge. "I heard her!" He yells. "I heard what she said in her sleep when it was my turn to watch over her and everyone else was outside," he says.

"Rory," Hazelle says, gently, trying to placate him, "what—"

"I heard her, Ma," Rory says, beginning to get hysterical. "She called his name! Over and over!"

"Whose name, Rory?" Prim asks, looking frightened of her cousin.

"Gale," he says. He looks at Madge, who's gaping. "Who are you really, and how do you know my brother?"

0 0 0

"He's stronger than we thought, Your Majesty," one of the guards says to Alma, as she looks at the scene before her, a bleeding and battered Gale chained to a post, another guard whipping him periodically. "It's as if he barely feels it at all."

Alma realizes this. She's been watching him be tortured by her guards. Sometimes they try and get information out of him. When that doesn't work, they torture him for sport. As a punishment for daring to defy his queen.

But he barely reacts. He may cry out after a vicious lash, but he remains steadfast. Conscious. Hardened. He's been preserved in a way—physically, emotionally, and mentally. Even his back isn't destroyed—there are lash marks and there is blood, but the skin remains mostly intact. If she allows him to heal, he will have scars, but they won't be plentiful.

Alma steps closer to him, out of the shadows and fully into the room. He becomes aware of her, and lifts his bowed head. His eyes, normally stormy grey with a tint of green, glow and eerie, clear, cerulean blue—the same shade of blue eyes that every person in the Undersee line possesses.

Alma recoils back as though struck. The Huntsman has someone gained some of the Undersee family Magic. He's not secretly an Undersee, is he? No. He doesn't have their fair hair, fairer skin, and blue eyes. She's never sensed Magic in him before. But then where…?

He met the princess in the Forest. He protected her. They fell in love. Alma gazes at him with new eyes. Before her is the princess's last weakness: her true love.

She whirls away, mind racing. She knows, now, exactly how she can get rid of both of the infamous Snow White and her true love. It will take a great deal of her Magic to do so, but she won't be weakened for very long—as soon as the princess is dead and Alma consumes her heart she'll emerge from this even stronger than before.

A long time later, after consulting her books and her potions, Alma emerges from her rooms. If she looks a bit pale and haggard, no one dares comment. She walks quickly to the room where Gale is being held.

"Untie him," Alma commands.

The guards blink at her. "But, Your Majesty…" one says.

"Do it," Alma snaps. "He won't get away, I assure you."

They do as she bids and Gale collapses to the ground. Alma waves her hand and Gale's back is healed. He gets to his feet, a bit unsteady. "I have another task for you, Huntsman," Alma says.

Gale glances at her warily but wisely says nothing.

From behind her back, Alma produces a satchel. She opens it and inside is a dozen juicy red strawberries.

Gale feels the hairs on the back of his neck prick. Madge's favorite fruit.

"Have you ever heard of soul mates, Huntsman?" Asks Alma. "Of true love?"

Gale remains silent, motionless.

"I'm sure even a backwater peasant such as yourself as heard of it," Alma says casually. "True Love, Huntsman, is a powerful thing. Rare. It's a type of Magic all of its own, imbued with its own properties that even other Magics—good Magic, bad Magic, can't even touch. One of those properties is that, once you make contact with your True Love, even if you are separated again, you will always be able to find each other. It's innate. It's instinct. They are engrained in your heart."

"So you, as the princess's true love," she says, looking at him closely for his reaction. His jaw clenches and he swallows, hard, "will lead me to her. You will lead me to where she is, and, professing your love and devotion, will offer her these strawberries, her favorite, as an apology for worrying her.

"She will eat one of these strawberries, not knowing that it's poisoned—that she will first fall into a coma and then a slow, decaying death." She grins at him, at the terror in his eyes. "The only cure for this is True Love's kiss. But it won't matter that you'll be right in front of her, because you too will eat a berry and succumb to the same death as your beloved."

The look in Gale's eyes could ignite fire. "And how, exactly, are you going to make me do that?" He asks her. "I would rather just bite into the strawberry first before offering one of them to Madge."

Alma throws back her head and laughs. "You see, Huntsman," she says, walking around him, silently weaving an incantation around him, "since you will not willingly do my bidding, I suppose I will have to do what I should have done the first time…" she looks into his eyes and sees the budding horror as he slowly begins to lose his mind. "I will _make _you do it."

His eyes begin to look more vacant; his pupils shrink. "But don't worry," Alma says, "I'll let you die with control over your own mind—it's the least I can do," she says, "and so you can see, just before you fade, your True Love, collapsed and still, never to rise again."

Gale doesn't respond; he's already hers.

0 0 0

There's a stunned silence in the cozy cabin before Madge begins to speak. Begins to tell the families of who she really is, of her family's deaths, of the years of torture, of running away and starting over, of meeting Gale, of their promises, of his broken promises and her fear.

When she finishes, Hazelle is crying. "So you don't know where he is now?" She asks. "If the queen has him?"

Madge shakes her head, and she's crying, too. "He was supposed to meet me," she puts her head in her hands. "I'm so sorry," she sobs. "It's all my fault."

"No," a strong hand comes to rest on her shoulder. She looks up and through her tears sees Gale's father, Asher. "It's not your fault," he tells her sternly. "It's no one but the queen's fault. And it sounds like Gale knew exactly what he was doing and that—that you were worth it."

It's the kindness in his eyes and the complete lack of judgment and resentment that undoes her again and she can't stop the tears leaking from her eyes, from being so _weak_, and she can barely bring herself to look at Rory's devastated face at the idea that his brother isn't coming back, _again. _

After she calms down, Madge eventually asks, "He thought all of you were killed by Alma. How did you escape?"

It's Branson Everdeen who answers. "We lost track of Gale in the chaos of the attack," he pauses. "And my eldest daughter, Katniss." He looks at her for a moment. "You—you haven't?"

Madge shakes her head. "I'm sorry," she says. "I haven't come across a Katniss Everdeen."

Branson sighs, but continues. "We ran. Carried the children and the clothes on our backs. We had heard the myths about the Forest—but we figured we would rather take our chances and seek refuge rather than be burnt and shot. We slept during the day and ran at night. After two weeks of running, in what was probably circles, we happened upon this clearing." Branson shakes his head. "To this day I don't know how we found it. I thought we had covered every inch of this Forest and yet…"

Madge smiles, a little. "It works in mysterious ways," she says. She didn't disclose any of her family Magic to them. She already feels stronger, not so drained, but she felt better when Gale was next to her. Then, she felt alive.

"We made ourselves a good life here. Asher and I hunt, and the women and children are safe here. We've planted a garden, and over the years we've—miraculously—come to learn the Forest well enough that we can navigate our way out, to a nearby village, though not our old one. We trade meat and furs there for the basics—clothing, weapons, foods we can't get here. We're content here, but we do miss our old life. The people there. But going back seems too dangerous." A dark, haunted look overcomes Branson's face. "We—Asher and I—were thinking of joining the Rebellion against Queen Alma. She's a snake, that woman, and your father," he glances at Madge, sympathy in his eyes, "rest his soul, was a noble man. There were many of us, Your Highness, who believed in your father and knew the truth of what he was doing. Only the greedy and wicked followed the queen. We're afraid for our families' sake, now. It's better to be here, safe." He glances around the house. "The Forest keeps us safe here. I don't know how I know it," he shakes his head, "but I do."

Madge leans back, puzzled. So the Everdeen's and Hawthorne's have a connection with the Forest as well. It's not just her; it's not just Gale. But what does that mean? What is the Forest trying to tell her?

She wishes she knew.

0 0 0

Madge regains her strength over the next couple of days. She begins to help Alyssa and Hazelle with the housework during the days, and to her delight, she is included with the children's rituals with their fathers, who come home from their hunts and teach their children hunting tricks of their own, especially archery.

It's only been a couple of days, but Madge is a natural. She doesn't hit a target dead-on, she's not _that _good, not like the other missing member of the family—Katniss. However, Madge does hit the target consistently, and though her aim needs work, her arrow always flights straight and strong, which is something.

On her third conscious day at the cottage, Hazelle and Alyssa ask a favor of her. "Our husbands are going to town," Alyssa says. "Usually we women stay behind, but there are some herbs and spices I'm running low on that I would prefer to pick out myself, and Hazelle wants to purchase some linens and fabric to make the children some new clothes. Would you mind terribly staying with them for a couple days?"

Madge hesitates. Not because she doesn't love these children, because she _does_, but she's worried about endangering them. She explained this much to the adults two nights before, how she needed to move on, but they firmly wouldn't hear of it.

"You're not strong enough," Alyssa, the healer, said. "When you are, we can talk of what you'll do next. But you are our guest now, Your Highness."

The irony of this set-down was not lost on Madge, of her subjects overriding the ruler. But she enjoyed the paternal and maternal care she was receiving too much, and perhaps a little selfish in wanting to stay in this bright, warm place, so unlike what she's ever known.

In the end, she agrees, because she really would do anything for these families, and she thinks of Gale, and she mourns him, every moment of every day. She feels guilty, almost, for being the last person to see him, to feel his arms, to know the contours of his face and the color of his eyes so well…

The children and Madge see the adults off the following morning and it's a glorious morning, bright and warm. The bubbling brook that flows near the cottage, that has the clearest, sweetest, purest water Madge has ever tasted, gurgles happily, gleaming in the sun. The trees form a protective cocoon around the clearing and Madge feels safe, at peace.

They bid the adults farewell and alternate the rest of the day between doing chores and playing. Though the day was warm, the night that comes in is chilly, too cool for early summer. A particularly vicious gust of wind catches them as they go inside and Madge, with a shiver, shuts the door firmly, locking it tightly.

She can't help but feel like the wind was a warning.

_Stay inside, where it's safe._

_Don't let the danger inside._


End file.
